The next morning was moist, but otherwise sunny and pleasant. Without torrential rain, moving through the village was much easier, and Toaster could actually see the things that surrounded her. As she initially expected, it was a quaint, rural village. Many of the houses and buildings were highly ornate, but they were all short and largely constructed out of wood.

Of the buildings, the only one that Toaster actually considered entering was a confectionary- -that is, until she realized that she still had no money. Looking up at the windows, however, she saw the straight-haired pink pony looking down at her, glaring. Toaster waved, but Pinkie Pie just slammed her curtains closed so loudly that Toaster was sure that she actually heard the sound of them sliding shut.

So, Toaster continued on, trotting happily down the streets. She had adjusted her clothing once again to appear as professional as possible: now she was wearing rear fishnets as well as front ones that stopped at her wrists, as well as all the appropriate makeup. The ponies around her seemed to appreciate her dedication to her role; they all looked at her, and she could hear them speaking as she passed. She could not hear what they were saying, but she assumed it was about how smashing she looked in her outfit and how glad they were to have a prostitute patrolling the streets for lonely stallions.

Of course, Toaster was not currently looking for customers. She needed to scope out the town, to determine what exactly “Ponyville” was. She had no knowledge of the world outside the brothel or the immediate area around it in Canterlot, so she needed to understand how many ponies made up her customer base and what she could expect from them. Unfortunately, so far it seemed that at least seventy percent were female. That annoyed Toaster to no end; although she was willing to debase herself completely for any stallion with money, she was not willing to have sex with a mare. That would just be inappropriate.

After several minutes of walking through the picturesque town, Toaster suddenly stopped on the side of a building. This one, unlike the others, appeared to be made of brick. That gave her an idea.

Toaster stepped back from the wall, and lowered her head. The tip of her horn ignited with red light, and then the magic divided into sixteen narrow red beams that independently swarmed over the surface of the wall. When she was done, Toaster stepped back and admired the image she had carved into the still-smoking brick. It was a large sign that said “For a Good Time, See Toaster”, complete with an ornate and accurate drawing of herself in a highly suggestive position, only partially covered with a blanket.

“Who’s a sexy pony?” said Toaster, leaning in toward the image of her. “What’s that? I’M a sexy pony? Oh, why thank you, scorch-mark Toaster. You’re not so bad yourself.”

She giggled, and then turned away- -only to be knocked back as she bumped into something heavy and dense.

“Ow!” she said, being partially knocked backward. “My squeegly-spooch!”

“Brother, watch out where you’re going!” said a female voice from partially above. “You can’t just run into ponies like that!”

“Yeah, I charge for stuff like that,” said Toaster, coming back to her senses. As her eyes came back into focus, she found herself staring into a pair of golden eyes- -eyes that were not looking back at her, but rather at either side. “Um…did I give you a concussion?”

“No,” said the stallion. “I was ‘born’ like this.” He suddenly reached out and licked Toaster’s nose.

“Hey!” said Toaster, jumping back.

“Hmm…” said the stallion, who Toaster now saw was a gray Pegasus- -weirdly enough, standing directly below a nearly identical female Pegasus who was flapping above him, her similarity so close that even her own eyes were looking in two different directions. “Needs more butter…”

“Oh, Bread,” said the floating Pegasus, dropping to his side. “She’s not supposed to taste like butter! That’s for later, when you and I get all greased up…”

“Um, eew!” said Toaster. “You can’t get buttered up with your sibl…” Before she could finish her sentence, she made a sudden realization based on their eyes. “Actually, now that you mention it, that does make a lot of sense…”

“So does cutting a dollar into one hundred pieces,” noted the stallion.

“Really?” said Toaster and the gray mare at the same time.

“No. Not at all.”

“Oh.”

The female Pegasus dropped down next to her brother. They were so similar that Toaster could almost not tell them apart.

“I don’t recognize you,” she said, derping heartily. “Are you new to Ponyville?”

“Yes,” said Toaster. “I just moved here yesterday. I live in Leera’s basement. I’m a prostitute.”

“Really? Oh, I just love Lyra. She’s so teal. And my next door neighbor!”

“Neigh-bor,” noted the male stallion, drawing attention to the pun.

“My name’s Muffins,” said the female Pegasus.

“Muffins? Really?”

“What’s wrong with Muffins?” said the stallion.

“Nothing. They’re delicious. But it’s…well, it’s just sounds terribly sexual. ‘Hey, mind if I squeeze your muffins?’ or ‘hey, look at the muffins on that one.’”

“She does have an excellent pair,” said the stallion.

“Well, I’m not the only one,” said Muffins, leaning against her brother.

“Eew,” repeated Toaster. “Again, siblings.”

“And this is Bread,” said Muffins, pointing at the stallion. She put her hoof to her mouth and whispered in a voice that was louder than her speaking voice. “But between you and me, he’s still a little half-baked.”

“I assure you, I am quite baked,” said Bread. “You can probably tell by the smell.”

“And you are?”

Toaster turned her flank around and lifted up her skirt, specifically to Bread. She pointed at her cutie mark. “I am called Toaster. Because there is one on my butt.”

“Oh. I can ship it,” said Muffins.

“Excuse me?”

“Never miiiiind…” she said with a smile.

“Say,” said Toaster to Bread. “You wouldn’t be interested in renting a mare, would you?”

“I have a mare,” he said, pointing to Muffins. “A mare right there.”

“Ah. I see. Well, would you happen to know any stallions that might be interested?”

“In what?” said Muffins, confused.

“I saw a rather large red stallion back a bit,” said Bread. “Red fellow. Tiny little tail. Vending apples.”

“Oh! That’s Big Macintosh!” said Muffins, “yes! He most definitely is a stallion!”

“Well, if he isn’t, I always check first,” said Toaster.

“I always check to see if stallions are carrying muffins,” said Muffins. She sighed and her expression fell. “They almost never are…”

Bread passed her a muffin- -Toaster had no idea where he had gotten it from- -and Muffin’s expression lightened. She hugged her brother, and then the pair of them took flight.

“We’ll see you later, Toaster!” said Muffins. “Maybe we’ll have you over for muffins!”

“I wouldn’t taste good in- -oh, never mind,” said Toaster, turning away just as Muffins and Bread simultaneously ran headlong into a pair of separate lampposts. “There is work to be done…”

Big Macintosh groaned as he pulled another hay bale off the tremendous stack and moved it across the barn and onto a waiting cart that was already mostly full of hay. As he lifted the heavy bale into place, a second pony joined him, moving another bale onto the cart with slightly more difficulty.

Moving hay was hard work, and Big Macintosh paused for a moment, wiping away the sweat from his forehead. The other stallion working with him stepped down from the cart as well, and Braeburn removed his hat and wiped his own dripping mane.

“Oh wow,” said Braeburn, laughing as he looked up at the hay that they had spent the latter part of the morning stacking. “Heavy work, isn’t it?”

“Eeeiyup,” replied Big Mac, nodding. He picked up a small canteen of water and tossed it to his cousin, who caught it easily. Big Mac then picked up his own, and they took a break as they sipped on the cool water inside each of the vessels.

“Can’t thank you enough for donating all this spare hay,” said Braeburn after a moment. “We’ve been havin’ the worst drought over in Appleloosa, and this will really help us ‘til the rain comes.” He laughed slightly. “Plus, I bet you need the space in the barn, what with cider season comin’ up and all.”

“Eeiyup,” affirmed Bic Mac.

“Plus, I always love a chance to come and see mah favorite cousin.” They both smiled and high-hoofed. As Big Mac put down his canteen and moved to go back to work, Braeburn cleared his throat.

“Actually,” he said. “On that note, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Eeiyup?”

“Purely hypothetical, of course. But do you think it’s okay for cousins to…you know…be attracted to one another.”

Braeburn had been expecting on of Big Mac’s signature one-word answers, but much to his surprise, Bic Mac seemed to consider it for a moment. Then he stood up straight, releasing the hay bale he had been about to lift. He looked Braeburn in the eye.

“Now, that depends,” he said, slowly. “If you mean me and a certain pair of Pie sisters, then, eeeeiyup. If you mean you and either of my sisters…” He slammed one of his front hooves into the other and glared down at Braeburn, who was slightly smaller than he was. “Then NOPE.”

“Calm down, calm down!” cried Braeburn. “I didn’t mean nothin by it! I wasn’t talkin’ about Applejack or Applebloom at all!”

“Good,” said Big Mac, returning to his work. As he bent down to pick up the hay bale, Braeburn could not help but admire the view presented to him.

“Not talking about your sisters at all…” he said to himself, blushing.

Big Macintosh did not notice his cousin leering behind him. Instead, he pulled away the hay bale, opening a small square in the pile. He jumped back with a cry when he saw a pair of green eyes staring back at him from the void.

“What is it?” cried Braeburn. “A spider?!”

“N- -nope!”

Toaster smiled from the hay, and then pulled herself out, her body contorting out of the uncomfortable position she had been compressed into. Her smile never left her, and in a few seconds, she had completely righted herself in the center of the barn.

“How- -how did you even get in there?” demanded Braeburn.

“Hmm…” said Toaster, her eye shifting between the pair of stallions now before her. “Two strong country boys, all sweaty from a hard day’s work…and no doubt so, so horny…”

“NOPE,” said Big Mac, backing away.

“Maybe just a little bit,” admitted Braeburn.

Big Mac moved toward the barn door, but Toaster was faster. She ducked across the room easily and slammed it closed. Her horn ignited and a several beams of red light welded the metal that held the door in place, sealing it.

“Oh, now don’t leave. Not when we’ve just started to have fun!”

She moved, once again swiftly, throwing herself on the larger red stallion, who she assumed to be Big Macintosh.

“My, what a big stallion…so strong…I wonder if I can even fit you…”

“Um…”

Toaster laughed. “Ha! Of course I can! I can fit an entire butternut squash! And, well…squash it.”

Big Mac’s pupils narrowed, and Toaster could see that he was shaking with excitement.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“From you? I’d say about thirty bits should be good…or seventy if you want to both go at the same time…”

“Go where?” asked Braeburn, confused. Toaster responded by flipping up her tail to show him just exactly where he would be going.

“Gah!” cried Braeburn, turning away.

“Oh,” said Toaster slyly. She now crossed the room toward the yellow pony in his cute little vest. “Never seen one, have you?” She wrapped her foreleg around his neck. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. At first.”

“Are you- -you talking about- -”

“About having my slender unicorn body pounded by a pair of hot, sweaty farm stallions for eighty bits? Oh yes. Yes I am.” She leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Come on. Let’s go for a roll in the hay. Hopefully I won’t, you know, ignite it and burn us to death.”

“But I’m gay!” cried Braeburn, pulling himself away from Toaster.

“WHAT?!” cried Big Mac.

“I only like stallions!” cried Breaburn, collapsing onto the ground and crying.

“Oh,” said Toaster. “So I suppose that means you’ll be putting it in my plot, then.”

“You’re not a stallion!”

“Oh, come on. A plot is a plot. And my plot is sooooo ready for you…” she shook it in his face to show how receptive she was.

“NO!” cried Braeburn, pushing her away. Toaster was immediately knocked off balance and slammed into a rack of garden tools, which promptly collapsed onto her.

“Braeburn!” cried Big Mac. “I know she wasn’t being none too polite, but you can’t just go and push a lady like that!”

“I know, I know!” sobbed Braeburn on the hay-strewn floor. “I just panicked! Bic Mac, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just didn’t know how to! I didn’t want it to come out like this…”

Big Macintosh crossed the room and helped Braeburn up. “I’m your cousin,” he said. “It doesn’t matter to me what you are, as long as you are who you want to be. I’ll love your regardless.”

“Oh, Big Mac!” cried Braeburn, wrapping his cousin in a hug.

“Now, come on. Let’s get her unburied.”

“Eeeeiyup,” said Braeburn playfully.

Before they could even approach the pile of collapsed tools, however, something rose through the wood and metal. Toaster stood, holding a certain tool in her mouth- -one resembling something like a three handled pliers.

“Look what I found,” she said. Her heavily made-up eyes slid partially closed.

“Big Mac,” squeaked Breaburn, backing away and looking up at his cousin, realizing that Toaster was holding a stainless steel emasculator. “Why do you even have one of those?!”

“Didn’t know you were into the real kinky stuff,” said Toaster, spitting the tool into her hoof and grinning at the pair of stallions as she slowly walked toward them.

“You- -you get back!” cried Big Macintosh.

Toaster did not stop, though. Nor did she slow. Instead, she slid off her skirt and threw it behind her.

“It’s time to make the toast,” she said, grinning wildly. “I’m about to squeeze the juice out of BOTH of your apples…”

Applebloom whistled as she trotted through Sweet Apple Acres, admiring the beautiful warm weather and the fresh morning sun as it shown down on the seemingly endless trees. The apples glittered like jewels, and the air was filled with the combination scent of apples, apple flowers, and fertilizer.

School was out for the summer, but she had just returned from a trip to Zecora’s. She had originally gone to learn more about potion making, but when she had arrived, she found Zecora in a terrible state. Apparently, she had eaten yet another bad plant, and spent the better part of five minutes speaking to Applebloom and to a pony apparently named ‘Avalon’ who was either invisible or not there at all. So Applebloom had gotten out earl, and now had all day to do whatever she wanted.

As she passed the barn, however, she saw something strange that immediately caused her to burst out into laughter. Her brother was stuck, his upper half protruding from a barn window and his lower half no doubt on the other side.

“Big Mac,” cried Applebloom, rolling on the ground from laughter. “What happened? Door broke on you or something?”

“Applebloom!” cried Big Mac, his voice rising suddenly. He released a cry and struggled, as if trying to escape. He turned back to the barn. “No! Don’t touch THAAAAT! Let go!”

“Big Mac, what are you doing?” said Applebloom through another surge of laughter.

“Applebloom, you’re going to have to EEEEEPP! Not the tail! NOT THE TAIL!” His voice increased several octaves. “Applebloom, get Applejack! Before she YOU LET GO NOW OR I WILL KICK YOU AGAIN!”

“Get me for what?” said Applejack, coming out of the fields with a certain elegantly shorn sheep walking beside her.

“Applejack?” said a muffled voice from inside the barn. “Applejack, you’ve got to- -HMF!”

“What in the Sam Hill is going on in there?” said Applejack. “I thought you were supposed to be helpin’ Braeburn with the hay…don’t tell me you to are…” her eyes narrowed, and she looked down at the sheep. “Come on, Loving. Let’s see what all the fuss is.”

“Right,” said the sheep, following Applejack toward the door.

When they reached it, Applejack found that it was stuck for some reason. ‘

“What is this? Ah just oiled this thing the other day!”

“Maybe the oil was bad?” suggested Loving Ewe, pushing on the door herself.

“Ah don’t think so. Stand back.” Applejack turned herself around, and with one swift kick bucked the door open.

What she found on the other side was not what she had expected. There, in the barn, were three ponies: her brother, stuck in the window, his rear legs flailing wildly, and Braeburn, who had a bit put in his mouth and was being ridden by a third pony, a chocolate-colored mare that Applejack had never seen before.

“What. The. BUCK!” she cried. “Big Mac, Braeuburn, what is this? What the hay are you doing?”

“I can explain,” said Big Macintosh, pushing himself back into the barn. As he did, Applejack turned away in disgust; she had very clearly seen that he was quite aroused.

“Hi, my name is Toaster,” said the fishnet-clad pony on Braeburn’s back. “I’m the prostitute that these two hired for an epic threesome.”

“Now wait just a minute- -”

“A prostitute?” said Loving Ewe, softly, stopping Big Mac in his tracks. She looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Big Mac, you could you? I thought I was your one and only!”

She burst into sobs as she ran out the door and away.

“Loving Ewe!” cried Big Mac. “Come back! This isn’t what it looks like!”

It was too late, though. She had already sprinted into the apple fields. Angrily, Big Mac shoved Toaster off of Braeburn. Braeburn immediately dashed across the room and hid behind Applejack.

“Hey, um, bad time to ask, but, um…can I keep this bit?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be gay or something?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Applejack put her hoof to her temple, which suddenly was throbbing with an oncoming migraine. “And ah come in here and see you and my brother taking turns on HER?”

“Technically, they were going to do me at the same time,” noted Toaster.

“No, we weren’t!” cried Big Macintosh. “I don’t have time for this! I have to go comfort my wife!”

“Wife?” said Toaster, confused.

Big Mac raised his hoof angrily, as if to strike Toaster, but then, shaking, put it down.

“You’re no lady…but I can’t hit a mare. Just get off my family’s property, and never come back!”

With that, he raced out door, calling after the sheep that had just run away in tears.

“Wait! I didn’t get paid!”

“He may not be able to hit a ‘lady’,” said Applejack, blocking Toaster’s path to the door. “But since you dared to touch mah brother and mah cousin- -”

The last thing Toaster saw was a hoof, followed by a flash of color and the sound of something snapping in her neck. Her body went numb and collapsed, and she slipped out of consciousness completely.

Bright lights. Hurried voices. Things moving, but too blurry to see. Toaster wondered what was happening, but did not feel a sense of urgency. As if it had all already happened long before.

“We’re losing her!” said sompony so far away.

“Her body can’t take much more of this!”

“If her heart fails again, just replace it,” said a deep, harsh voice from the corner of the room.

“Clear!” cried another.

Toaster jumped awake with a scream, bolting upright- -and immediately realizing that it was a terrible mistake. “Holy mandrake butts!” she cried, grabbing the side of her head. “Did I get hit by a bus?”

“Nope, just by my granddaughter,” said an old voice. Toaster looked around, realizing that she was lying on a cot in a somewhat rustic wooden-floored room. Sitting next to her in a rocking chair was a very old mare with a pie cutie mark. “You’ve got a bit of a glass jaw there. Still, surprised you woke up from that one.”

“I’ve taken harder,” said Toaster through the pain. She looked down at her hoof. “Am I bleeding?”

“Not anymore, now. I took care of you. Rubbed some of my special ointment on it.”

“Thank you,” said Toaster.

“Don’t you worry yourself, I’ve got LOADS of ointment. Being old will do that to ya. Now…what was I talking about?”

“The pony that hit me…is she here?” Toaster looked around in a panic. Her face was an important part of how she made her money- -she did not want to have the other half ruined too.

“Nope. Out blowing off steam in the fields or somesuch. I’m sure she just feels terrible about losing her temper on you like that. And it wouldn’t be neighborly to just dump you on the curb, would it?”

“It would not be entirely unexpected.” Several memories came back to Toaster. She slammed her hoof into the edge of the cot she was on, the sudden surge sending a wave of pain through her limb. It had been injured pretty badly when the rack of tools had fallen on her. “I failed again, didn’t I?”

“Don’t rightfully know what you mean,” said the old pony. “Unless you mean sellin’ your wares to my grandson and nephew.”

“Well, um, I- -”

The old pony laughed softly and turned to Toaster. “Oh, come on now. I may be an Apple, but I’ve tasted a few bananas in my time, if you know what I mean. Could probably even show you a few things you didn’t even know were possible. The name’s Granny Smith, by the way.”

“Toaster.”

“What’s that? ‘Toaster’? That’s just about the WORST name for somepony in yer line of work, ain’t it? I’d consider gettin yourself a ‘no-de-plume’. I had to back in your day, too. Hard to get a stallion hard when your first name’s ‘Granny’. Called myself ‘Apple Filling’ back in the day.”

“You were a prostitute too?”

“Eh, won’t say yes or no to that one. But let’s just say quite a few stallions have had their hooves in this pie.” She patted the pie-shaped cutie mark on her flank. She sighed. “But they’re all gone now.” She looked up at Toaster. “But I think you’re barkin up the wrong tree.”

“Tree?”

“Yeah. Braeburn ain’t into your type. Never has been, never will. And Big Mac…well, he spends a bit too much time in the old sheep pen, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“Then it’s best if you stay that way, then.”

“So I don’t have a chance with them? Either of them?”

“Nope.”

Toaster flopped down onto her belly on the cot. “Another failure…” She started to pick herself up, wincing at the pain in her head and foreleg, and started limping toward the door.

“Now what are you tryin to do, little lady? Most ponies’d be out for a week from an Applejack hit. Sit back down there and rest a spell.”

“No time…need to whore…need money…”

“Gosh darn it, you’re worse than Applejack. Fine,” said Granny Smith. “If business is what you’re after, sit down in that chair right there.”

Toaster did not understand how sitting would lead to business, but she sat down anyway, and turned to face the older pony.

“Now let me tell you a story about a handsome young stallion named Stinkin’ Rich…”